Houston We Have A Homework Problem Finished

Lorenzo still remembered for how long he‘d looked forward to Astronomy lessons at Hogwarts. Even during Potions and Charms, the first-year had found himself counting the hours until he could dive into assignments, lessons, and homework all orbiting nothing but planets, stars and galactic forces. Waiting and with his quill, he’d drawn tiny stars in the margins of his otherwise perfectly neat parchment. There he placed Saturn‘s rings around the letter O. Beneath, a rough sketch of Roman pillars had soon taken shape. Lost in thought, time passed quicker—until it finally was the afternoon, when the Astronomy homework called.
Said homework, unexpectedly to the studious Ravenclaw, went not as quietly and efficiently as planned. The first-year had spent a solid half of an hour poring over the textbook until each page began to feel dry beneath his fingers and his mind had drained out of motivation. Like a deflated balloon, only discipline and a spark of stubbornness kept it afloat. A Vincenti was not to be thrown off by mere complex constructs. His father would think of it as beneath them.
Appreciating this ordeal or not, Lorenzo had thought, there was no choice but to head to the Astronomy Tower and keep an eye out for his professor. The solution rattled around in his mind like the logical scripts of his private tutors back home in Cambridge—where, between strict schedules and shelves of books, there had always been staff available.

With years of practiced calm steps and watchful eyes, he entered the room not long after. The way there had passed without much surprise. Lorenzo made a conscious effort to enter the tower quietly—always on deliberately relaxed soles, he forced every trace of irritation from his expression. The thought that a Hogwarts professor might catch the frustration over his homework on his face unsettled the young student. Lorenzo commanded his eyebrows to stay composed, his spine to maintain its upright posture, and his hands to hold the book tucked in his arm with deliberate gentleness.
Head held high, he had already aimed his steps toward spotting the professor. Unfortunately, no one came in sight. Not behind the lectern, nor by the bulletin board, the telescope, or the star charts. Lorenzo’s gaze dimmed with each place his eyes scanned in vain. No one could help if no one was here, not even Aiden. The Ravenclaw would have to show up to the next lesson without an answer to his question and feel like a failure in his favorite subject. A chill crept through his chest—until, by sheer coincidence, his eyes landed on someone familiar.
The cold melted at the sight of the older Ravenclaw student. He was sitting in a corner—not immediately visible upon entry, but now unmistakable with Lorenzo standing among the desks. If he remembered correctly, the name Damien had come up during the meteor shower and attached itself to the dark, wild hair of the other boy. Relief reached all the way into Lorenzo‘s eyes, gently peeling away the carefully trained mask of calm and neutrality. The flicker of desperation gave way to a soft sigh, and the first-year student approached.

In daylight, Damien seemed paler than he had that night, or at least in Lorenzo‘s view he did not register him as a young man of clashing colors. Curiously, Lorenzo studied his face. Light eyes seemed intently fixed on the book in Damien’s hands, appearing all the more luminous beneath dark lashes and the stray brown strands that had fallen across his forehead. As he drew closer, Lorenzo glanced down at the book that had so thoroughly captured Damien’s attention. It appeared to be about Greek mythology, if his eyes and the tilted view of the cover could be trusted. Quietly, he lifted his head, trying to stretch just enough to catch a glimpse of the page’s contents. By now, he was standing almost beside Damien, fingers pressed tightly against the astronomy book clutched to his chest. He liked to see the other Ravenclaw‘s interest, enjoying mythology himself. Perhaps it was only natural to develop an interest in the gods of the antic when one spent their time following the planets. The word Apollo stood out from a page—one of the few gods who bore the same name in Roman mythology, adopted from the Greek. As an Italian, Lorenzo was naturally more familiar with the Roman pantheon than the Greek, but loved both either way.
With narrowed blue eyes, he tried to read nearly over Damien’s shoulder, when the tragedy of the moment dawned on him: this was rude. He was behaving childish. Everything his father would disapprove of, Lorenzo showcased, distracted by a book and an older Ravenclaw. Staring into someone’s business without even a greeting, it was as if he had not enjoyed any teachings on manners! The thought drained the color from Lorenzo’s lips in an instant.

Quickly, the boy forced himself into politeness, clearing his throat:
“Hello Damien, am I interrupting?” and hoped this did not count as sneaking up on someone.

The older student looked up from his book, for a brief moment, their gazes seemed to lock. In that instant, the young Italian could study the stormy grey-blue of Damien’s eyes more closely. It struck him as the kind of shade one might find in paintings of Venice by the artist Giorgione—grey-blue beneath light brown hair like the sky over the Laguna in Venice. A more genuine tint of a smile crept into the trained politeness on Lorenzo’s face. He had always liked the painter’s work, especially the melancholic grays that held a kind of paused harmony between the cloiuds. As if that frozen clock had suddenly extended into the space between them, something in Damien halted. Even when the younger Ravenclaw looked more closely, Lorenzo couldn’t quite tell what it was that made him feel like his presence had caught Damien off guard. A flicker of guilt crept in—partly for having accidentally startled him, and partly because he hadn’t wanted to bring any unease into the Astronomy Tower.

“I am deeply sorry if I startled you,” Lorenzo said with a slightly strained smile.

A shy, slightly embarrassed expression flickered across his eyes but was brushed away like sand on Louis Vuitton when Damien seemingly relaxed. His lips curved into a smile. The following reply brought relief to Lorenzo mind—he said the young boy wasn’t interrupting and even offered, “What can I help you with?” Not one to let an invitation grow roots and rot in the room, Lorenzo sighed and was already placing his book and the small notepad down on the table. The cover read Astrology and Stars, embossed in gold and adorned with a red planet as decoration. In fine black print, the author’s initials were nestled among golden ornaments, as if the name itself belonged to Saturn’s rings.
He carefully pulled out a chair, ensuring it made as little sound as possible. Lorenzo lowered himself into it with precision, attentive not to let any harsh scrape of wood against floor disrupt the calm of the room. It worked mostly successfully.

"I am glad hearing this from your lips, thank you," Lorenzo began as he slid the chair in closer to the table, then shifted his gaze from Damien down to the book and his notes. "I have a homework assignment, and they’re asking for an interpretation between stars and astrology. I don’t really understand the depth of what that is supposed to mean... Do they want me to compare the two or bring them into connection with each other..philosophically?"

Philosophy, of all things, was a subject Lorenzo did not call his friend. While he could easily think interpretatively in an artistic sense, when it came to behavior and social dynamics, he was a bird in freefall—Ícarus himself! His father always gave him a disappointed look whenever Lorenzo misread someone’s expression or placed too much symbolic weight on subtle gestures. Sometimes, the Vincenti heir felt like performing in the wrong film, as though everyone around him had been handed a manual or simplified script he’d never even seen a copy of. The boy tilted his head slightly, the exhaustion of overthinking creeping in again. Uncomfortably, he tapped his own leg, memorizing the rough texture of his tailored trousers under the fingertips.

"I actually wanted to ask the professor what exactly they meant. I really don’t want to embarrass myself when I turn it in. Please don‘t tell anyone about this..," he admitted more quietly, casting a sideways glance toward Damien. Lorenzo‘s expression slowly tightened, unsettled by his own failure. Unfortunately he had no other choice but to admit it now.

Although Lorenzo noticed the slight flush that settled on Damien’s pale skin like a dusting of rose-colored powder, he didn’t understand where it came from. He had no intention of putting him on display—nor of drawing attention to it through his gaze. Therefore Lorenzo made a conscious choice: to fix his eyes either on the book to his front or directly on Damien‘s blue eyes. Calmly, he ran his finger along the book's spine just as Damien began to share his thoughts. They fell over the homework and the many questions in Lorenzo‘s mind like a longed-for beam of light. The younger boy furrowed his brow gently, listening as close as possible—especially at the suggestion of a back-and-forth banter. The idea was excellent, awakening a flicker of shame in him, at not having come to an argumentative solution himself. Especially considering his early education and the many correlation analyses across all imaginable fields that his father with only the best intentions had forced upon him. The young Ravenclaw slightly lowered his gaze. It landed—of all things—on the blue lining inside his sleeve. Suddenly, the colour felt out of place. As if the Hat had made a huge mistake by choosing the house of wit as his Hogwarts Home.

“I feel incompetent…I understand the principle,” Lorenzo began, trying to distract himself through work, “but not how to apply it. Star signs and astronomy feel so far apart—aside from the obvious. I can’t imagine it is wanted of me to just state exactly what everyone else will.”

It wasn’t proper manners to put one’s hand to their face—but in this second moment, nothing of the strict upbringing could prevent it. Lorenzo leaned forward, the spine usually straightened by an invisible corset now curving in on itself. Hair fell into his forehead, only to be pushed aside by his fingers a second later. The soft texture was a welcome distraction, because his thoughts were spinning wildly and demanded exit from his lips.
He was grateful Damien was helping him. The older Ravenclaw seemed more than just correctly sorted to the right House— he was clear-minded and seemingly sharp. It was everything Lorenzo felt he himself was not embodying. Slowly, a dreary expression settled over his features. It crept across his lips and eyes without his permission.

The question slipped out like a whisper of breath and worry, right after the previous one. Lorenzo was already ashamed even as he finished asking it: “Damien… you don’t think the Sorting Hat ever makes a mistake, do you?”

In that uncharacteristically poor posture, his neck began to burn after only those last few seconds—as if his father was staring at him from behind, already taking the first critical steps toward their table. Lorenzo slid back upright and forced himself back into proper form. Hoping Damien would answer the question with a no, Lorenzo scolded internally the lapse of composure his body had dared to embrace.

The seconds in which Damien shifted beside him, changed his posture, and angled himself upright, moved past the boy like heavy, ammunition-laden trucks. Lorenzo‘s whole body tensed, the strain running from his shoulders down into his fingers, until he froze—emotions raw and thoughts were wiped clean. Slowly, the young man turned his head to study the older student with deep care. He felt almost childish. It was as if he had just too confidently spoken about a forbidden opinion in his father’s house, and now had to await Damien’s judgment. He instinctively hoped for mercy.
Gradually, Lorenzo drew his posture back into place, like a soldier hoping to keep some fragment of pride after a pathetic capitulation. Within two blinks, the perfect stance served his spine. The younger boy searched Damien’s face for the result of his misdeed—then Damien parted his lips. “Hm… do I think the Sorting Hat made a mistake? Well…” he began, going on to explain that his entire family had been in Gryffindor, and that even now, sitting beside Lorenzo in blue linen, life at home had grown difficult. The words stumbled into Lorenzo’s imagination, far removed from the dress code of the rest of his expectations. It surprised him—Damien seemed the model Ravenclaw: intelligent and calm, as though born into the ocean’s hue. The brow furrowed slightly. He watched in silence, waiting for the pause to pass, then listened as Damien continued.
What followed sank into his heart, brushing over it and settling like a balm over the gaping holes. To hear that an older student, felt the same way Lorenzo did now—painted a fictional moment, similar to a declaration of peace. The soldier-straight spine softened a fraction, and Lorenzo‘s lips pressed together with just the gentlest firmness. He buried himself into thoughts.

Damien seemed to place his trust in the Sorting Hat. The small smile he offered met Lorenzo’s gaze, yet Lorenzo could not return it. Despite the easing of the moment, the weight of expectation pressed down on him, forcing the boy into a state where lightness felt impossible. Slowly, he turned his gaze away. He let it drift back over his book. Damien’s words lingered beside him: “So no, I don’t think the Sorting Hat made a mistake, because when I look at you, I see a smart and talented Ravenclaw—no matter what doubts you have.”
At least one person could see it. Lorenzo hoped he might do the same himself one day. Somewhere deep down, he knew he wasn’t slow—facts from textbooks slipped too easily into his synapses, correlation analyses too swiftly from his fingertips, and new languages too naturally from his tongue. Socially, however, he seemed to be living on the wrong planet, quietly wishing he might find a more fitting one somewhere among the stars. The young Ravenclaw let his gaze linger on the cover of his homework‘s book a moment longer.

He let a brief silence settle before answering with a sigh. “You’re probably right. I don’t want to disagree with you—I just hope that one day I can honestly feel and think the same way,” Lorenzo turned his head toward Damien and drew the book back toward himself with one of his hands. “Thank you.”

Not just for the advice’s sake. To underline his sincerity, he gave a faint smile, trying to convey—according to social convention—that he truly was grateful. Then Lorenzo eased his chair back, pressing his weight into the backrest to give himself space to rise. The book slid comfortably into his arms, its weight settling pleasantly against his forearm.

“Really, thank you, Damien. I think I’ll head back to my room in the Ravenclaw common room and get to work on my homework,” after a moment’s further thought, he added with a softer smile, “I hope we’ll run into each other again. You really are the perfect Ravenclaw. I admire you…”

Standing made the situation of needing aid feel less embarrassing than it had while sitting. Damien’s brown hair looked alluring from above, each strand seeming to catch the light from the ceiling windows and send it back into Lorenzo’s eyes. The Italian caught a faint smile passing over Damien’s face. A pleasant silence spread between the two Ravenclaws. For once, Lorenzo didn’t mind it. Only half an hour earlier, it would have unsettled him—before Damien had revealed himself to be a trustworthy mentor and potential friend. Pressing the book closer to his chest, Lorenzo straightened his spine. His head settled into its practiced posture. A small, genuine smile touched his lips. The boy was still worried about completing his homework, but the knowledge of a second opinion was comforting. The elder boy‘s words lingered in Lorenzo’s mind as if they were a pleasant scent, filling a house goodwill as it seeps through cracks, doors and carpet‘s wool. He almost considered remaining there, perhaps studying Damien’s eyebrows, memorizing his face deeply enough to later summon it as a sketch of encouragement in his notebook. Lorenzo nearly forgot that he had risen only to leave. When all of sudden, Damien broke the silence and its spell. Naturally, it was with nothing but warmth and courtesy.
As though the words stirred up dust, just to dance beside Damien’s nose in the shaft of light. The older Ravenclaw invited him to approach if Lorenzo ever needed someone to talk to. At that offer, Lorenzo’s soft gaze drifted thoughtfully away from those blue eyes. The smile remained on his cheeks, but the idea pulled him briefly into dreamed futures—ones where he would have to search through all of Hogwarts to find Damien, wondering who might overhear, and whether his father could somehow find out. The last thought wanted nothing but to press against his lungs like a slab of fancy marble, yearning to choke the Italian.
For a heartbeat, his breath caught. However, the situation wanted to shift.
For Damien seemed to just now have noticed the rest of the young Boy‘s words. Out of the corner of his eye, Lorenzo noticed the pale skin tint with a delicate shade of red. He turned his head back to closely study Damien‘s face. The new coloring—like the rosé Mozart roses of Italian Gardens—suited Damien strikingly well. With the nearly enchanting sight, Lorenzo’s father was forgotten. He had not expected his words to yield such a reward. The breath escaped his lungs, carrying with it a spark of secretive euphoria. An unearthed dominant smile curved across his usually timid face.

“Yes,” Lorenzo confirmed.

Slowly, the softness washed from Lorenzo’s features. Something in him relaxed—like the quiet satisfaction of making the final chess move toward checkmate, knowing his private tutor would be expecting a surprise. Those flushed cheeks were simply too calming, especially on Damien’s face. It flared a sense of safety in the younger of the two. Lorenzo‘s shoulders shifted, widening just a hint. He ingrained the view into his memory. Deciding it deserved perhaps to be captured and kept among the rest of his cognitive possessions.

“Why shouldn’t I? You are clever and sharp-minded. I hope we see each other again soon. Thank you, once more.”

Something sounded from afar. Lorenzo heard it—a door in the hallway, or footsteps in the corridor outside the Astronomy Tower. It felt as though the world were calling him out, announcing it was time to leave. He gave Damien a polite farewell, let his gaze pass once more over those cheeks, nodded, and turned away.
As he walked from the table toward the door, the book now sat much more comfortably in his arms than it did at his arrival. Even the air felt lighter.